


thought i dreamed her

by 1sleepydormouse (AlderBee), AlderBee



Series: saturnine [10]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Be warned: A child is us suffering in this fic, Betty is a Grim Reaper, Child Neglect, Death Fic, Gen, Grim reaper au, Open Ending, They/Them, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderBee/pseuds/1sleepydormouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderBee/pseuds/AlderBee
Summary: The room itself was painfully sparse. With the absence of any fluorescent lighting, the only source of light was from the orange street lights beyond the bare windows. Betty did not need to see the rest of the small, two-bedroom apartment to know that it was all inadequately furnished for and poorly maintained. It was hard to imagine that anyone called this their home.





	thought i dreamed her

**Author's Note:**

> Note of warning: there is graphic depiction of a child suffering from the effects of neglect. Please proceed with caution.

“Sometimes, the hardest jobs are just not worth the heartache,” Veronica spoke, surrounded by stars, her breath invisible in the cold, winter air. “Good thing we are born heartless.”

 

“Are we?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Heartless. Are we really?”

 

A pause, which Veronica took as an opportunity to light a cigarette, eyes tracking the delicate wisps of smoke it dissipated in the air.

 

They weren’t human.

 

They weren’t alive. 

 

And while they were aware of how morbid it was to mimic a being that wasted away so easily, it was oddly comforting to take their form. They weren’t given names, so they named themselves or each other, human-like names. 

 

“Veronica” wasn’t really a Veronica. But they held themselves like one, regal and elegant against the night sky, the lit end of a cigarette that did nothing for them dangling between fingers.

 

A false breath of smoke, a mimicked sigh. “What an odd question to ask, Betty.”

 

“Betty” shrugged, fingering their blond hair. This line of work, this purpose, was shrouded in dark tones and heavy shadow, moments saturated in sorrow or anger or fear. A touch of color, something bright was something that Betty found comforting.

 

“I think that heartless may be a bit wrong. Even the first thing you said, ‘sometimes the hardest jobs are not worth the heartache’ kind of makes my point. If we were truly heartless, would we be able to recognize the context?”

 

“I guess,” Veronica conceded, not really engaged in the conversation to begin with. “Some are harder than others.”

 

Yes. The dying were all so different.

 

Some easy. Some satisfying.

 

Some hard.

 

Some painful.

 

But they were built for this. Built to withstand the pain. It was part of the title after all. 

 

Grim Reaper. Little forms of Death, tasked with guiding lives to their next destination.

 

Heaven or hell, it meant very little to them because both felt the same. Just another location for a soul.

 

As the embodiment of Death, they could not cross over to either side. They knew very little of what happened beyond the borders. It did not really matter. It was just important to get the right soul in the right place. What they did to deserve either one was neither here nor there.

 

Sometimes it was easy to tell. 

 

Human bodies riddled with holes (made by bullets or needles or knives, humans could be so creative). Others filled with poison (man-made or a body in self-destruct). Some very old (for a human anyway).

 

And some so very young.

 

(The younger ones were the hardest. All Grims agreed.)

 

. . .

 

(Maybe not so heartless.)

 

“Of course,” Veronica flicked the end of the cigarette, red-hot ash falling into the wind. “We aren’t supposed to feel exhaustion either, but even I’ve been feeling a bit ragged lately. It’s like a race to the afterlife lately with these souls.”

 

“I don’t think they were created to be so self-destructive, but here we are.”

 

“Keeps us busy I guess. I do have to admit, I’ve been seeing so many interesting souls. Makes me want to maybe change my form or my name.”

 

“It  _ has  _ been a while since you’ve changed. Though I have to say, the female form is very becoming on you.”

 

“How about you? Thinking of getting rid of the blond?”

 

Betty was fond of the blond. And it had been making their job easier as of late . . .

 

Before Betty could respond, they felt a warm pull in the center of her stomach. It was time to go.

 

“Ah well,” Veronica vanished their half-finished cigarette. “Me too.” They pulled their shrouds closer around their form, tempering its natural billowing state. “Duty calls.”

 

“I will see you around, Veronica,” Betty offered a rare smile. Grims were not known to make any sort of lasting relationship, especially among each other. But Betty felt fortunate to have something that resembled friendship with a fellow Grim. Their talks, while sometimes tinged with macabre, were pleasant enough.

 

But it was time to move on.

 

Looking up at the stars, Betty watched them slowly fade, the world blurring in a haze before focusing into a wallpapered surface.

 

The room itself was painfully sparse. With the absence of any fluorescent lighting, the only source of light was from the orange street lights beyond the bare windows. Betty did not need to see the rest of the small, two-bedroom apartment to know that it was all inadequately furnished for and poorly maintained. It was hard to imagine that anyone called this their home.

 

Not that there was anyone here aside from the single soul that called out to them.

 

Betty refocused their attention to the single, bare mattress shoved in the corner of the room. There were no pillows, and no blankets apart from a single sheet, thin and worn, wrapped around a singled huddled form.

 

There was very little residual heat in the entire home, evidence that the child had been left alone for quite some time. Left alone in the cold, his form had long stopped shivering, lying still, no longer grasping desperately as the skimpy sheet.

 

He couldn’t be wearing more than a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of threadbare jeans. His feet were bare, and the tips of his ears peeked through matted dark hair. Even from this distance, Betty could feel the painful maw of hunger echoing through his belly, numbed from the long battle against the low temperatures and the duration of the pain. 

 

This child had been hungry for a very long time.

 

It had been hours since he was able to obtain any sort of warmth. His body was slowly giving into exhaustion, not longer able to shiver or sustain itself on any reserves of fat . . . eating away at his organs.

 

He couldn’t be more than four or five.

 

He was dying.

 

( _ The younger ones were the hardest. All Grims agreed. _ )

 

If Grims didn’t have a heart . . . then what was it within Betty that ached at this sight?

 

The child - Forsythe Pendleton Jones III - was still, half-lidded eyes barely focused on Betty’s form. If he was able to see them . . . this did not bode well.

 

Betty was in time.

 

Betty took a few steps towards the mattress, taking in the exhausted features of the child before kneeling, and eventually curling on the bare space of the mattress, facing him. “Forsythe?”

 

His blinks were slow and sluggish, but the flash of indignation animated him enough that Betty would imagine the energy this child had when he was well fed and warm.

 

“No. Jug, Jughead,” his voice was whisper thin, more a thought than actual words.

 

A nickname. Such a novel concept.

 

Jughead: slang for a foolish person. An odd choice for a nickname, but Betty could not help but think that it seemed more suited to this small child than a heavy title such as “Forsythe.”

 

“Jughead, then.”

 

His dark eyes were serious, and though his mind was wrapped in the cotton thick sensations of hunger and pain and exhaustion, he was sharp. No fear or confusion registered on his face as his attention latched on the curl of blond hair that fell across Betty’s neck and chest. Golden 

sunlight contrasted by thick, cloying darkness.

 

“Am I dead?” he asked.

 

Betty held back the urge to run their fingers over his cheeks, both gaunt with malnutrition but plump with youth. 

 

Such a waste.

 

As much as Betty wished to offer some level of physical comfort, they knew that humans could not find relief in their icy touch. Until the moment of death, it was forbidden to make physical contact.

 

It was too excruciating to the human otherwise.

 

Grims could only take, after all.

 

Betty lowered their voice to match his. “You are not dead yet.” A small heart beat lowered in tempo. “But I will be here. I will stay with you until you are.”

 

The boy’s body wracked with a tight, full-body shiver, more muscle memory than an actual attempt at warmth. He would lose control of bodily functions soon.

 

Betty wanted to keep his attention away from that.

 

Jughead gently rocked his head further into the mattress, settling. “It’s just been me.”

 

“I know. Do you know how long?”

 

“Just, I don’t-, A long time. I think.”

 

“Yes, you have been alone. But I am here.”

 

“You are pretty.”

 

“Thank you,” Betty’s response was genuine. This was a good body.

 

“I’m, I’m tired.”

 

“Yes. You can sleep.”

 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked, eyes drooping further, barely slitted.

 

Betty listened to his body shut down. “When you sleep, you will not wake up again, I’m afraid.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I will be here when you die, Jughead. Your body cannot hold your soul any more.” Betty tried to provide comfort through facts. “I will take care of your soul in the after.”

 

“Ok.” He paused, eyes closing but still conscious. “Will God be there, too?”

 

Such a strange question. One Betty was asked many times. And one they could not answer.

 

Betty only knew truths. “It will only be me.”

 

His eyes cracked back open. “Is there one? God?”

 

Betty uncurled their fingers from underneath their chin, the cloak around their form swelling with each beat of the child’s slowing heart. Slowly, their hand reached out for Jughead’s hands, resting unclenched on top of the blankets. 

 

“I do not know.”

 

And with that final truth, their hands touched.

 

* * *

 

The next time Jughead opened his eyes, he found himself in the loose embrace of the stranger. Their arms were solid, comforting over his body, reminiscent of a hug from his mom or maybe his dad. No . . . not like that. More like when Hotdog crawled over him like a huge puppy blanket, all fuzziness and heavy comfort. 

 

This wasn’t fuzzy, but he was strangely comfortable.

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he was.

 

Their gazes connected, Jughead unafraid while he looked into dark, lightless eyes. The lady - if she was a lady . . . maybe an angel - had soft looking blond hair. He imagined that her face would be better suited with blue eyes. After a pause, he told her so.

 

“Blue?” Eyes focusing off into the distance in thought, the stranger closed their eyes before reopening them to show dark, ocean blue irises.

 

Jughead smiled. “Maybe a little lighter.”

 

And within moments, blue eyes lightened like the slow transition of the night sky to early morning.

 

“Cool.”

 

The stranger smiled. “Cool.”

 

Jughead wasn’t sure why, but somehow, he knew that he was still asleep. He didn’t have to turn around, but he could sense his body lying on the mattress just a little bit further behind him. 

 

Still sleeping. Still cold.

 

He didn’t feel so cold now. Curiosity spurred him to turn his head, but the strange lady kept a soft but firm hand on his cheek, keeping their gaze locked. Jughead didn’t fight it.

 

Fingers brushed at the soft hairs tucked around his ear. “You are very bright.”

 

“You’re dark.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you an angel?”

 

“An angel.” A thoughtful pause. “Would you like me to be?”

 

“No. I want you to be you. Whatever you are.”

 

“Hm. Then, do you know what Death is?”

 

Jughead cocked his head in thought, twisting his fingers in the soft fabric of her cloak. He knew the word. It same up sometimes in his story books. A few kids in his class would talk about how their characters were dead in their video games. Sometimes animals or people died in tv shows. It meant that someone was gone. 

 

Unless it was a game. Then you just started over again.

 

Jughead knew the difference between a game and real life.

 

“It means gone. Someone is gone.”

 

A blond head nodded. “That is me. I am Gone.”

 

That . . . that didn’t make sense to Jughead. “I don’t understand.”

 

“It’s all right. You don’t need to. You just need to know what when a person is ready to be gone, I am there to make sure that they get to the right place.”

 

“Oh. So kind of like a guard? Like the adult who helps us cross the street?”

 

“Yes. Like that.”

 

It all made sense, somehow, in his head. Everything was going to be okay then. He wasn’t alone now. For the first time, he felt safe, and this stranger, this pretty and nice stranger, was going to make sure that he would stay safe.

 

He trusted.

 

All at once, he felt weightless, and Jughead couldn’t help the giggle as the two of them began to float up, above the mattress. The guard’s cloak floated around them, like a black river of soft velvet as they floated right side up, flowing with the air until they were out the window and among the stars. 

 

Secure in solid arms, Jughead’s giggles grew into laughter, taking in the wonders of the stars, so close that he could touch them.

 

Betty’s eyes stayed riveted on the joyous child in her arms, his spirit as bright as the stars that twinkled above them.

 

Together they floated up, headed for a journey towards heaven . . . untouched by the screams and sirens that shattered the earth below.

**Author's Note:**

> The tags for this fic will probably drive some readers away, but kudos to those of you who gave it a try :-) Title of the fic was pulled from Hozier’s absolutely lovely and heartbreaking “Work Song.” I don’t think I’ll ever NOT associate these two with a song when I write! XP
> 
> Please drop me a comment <3


End file.
